


Wild Geese

by Kyra



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Bechdel Test Pass, Chocolate, Chromatic Yuletide, Female Character of Color, Gen, Humanity, Mentors, Misses Clause Challenge, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Personal Growth, Vulcan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 09:28:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13051218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyra/pseuds/Kyra
Summary: When she’s 11, Michael informs Amanda she wishes to spend less time with her.





	Wild Geese

**Author's Note:**

  * For [silly_cleo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silly_cleo/gifts).



> [Title is Mary Oliver's.](http://april-is.tumblr.com/post/87756166/april-22-2006-wild-geese-mary-oliver) Many much thanks to swmbo for pulling beta duty.

There’s an antique telescope in the captain‘s room. Terran if Michael is not mistaken, which she rarely is.

“Captain,” she says at the end of one of their first meetings on the _Shenzhou_. “As you are undoubtedly aware, the ship’s sensors are sufficiently technically advanced to provide you with sensory data several orders of magnitude greater than you could hope to achieve from such an antique instrument.”

Captain Georgiou follows her gaze and chuckles softly under her breath.

“Efficiency isn’t its purpose, Michael,” she says. Michael tilts her head minutely.

“And what is its purpose?”

“It’s a... reminder,” the captain says slowly. “Of several things, you could say. My ancestors. Our shared human past as an exploratory race. Of the necessity of examining an issue from multiple perspectives, using tools that you may not have been born with.”

Michael considers this.

“Sentimentality,” she states. She is more than aware of this common Terran predilection. Most if not all illogical Terran tendencies have been regularly pointed out to her on Vulcan, by her classmates, instructors, acquaintances. It doesn’t seem to matter whether or not she herself indulges in them.

The captain inclines her head a degree, conceding the point.

“Perhaps,” she says.

Michael thinks about this later. The captain is easy about accepting her flaws - her human characteristics, Michael corrects herself mentally, having discovered quickly that most species don't respond well to the term. Her human characteristics. It reminds her of Amanda and it makes no sense. Why not want to improve oneself, to strive for more, to become *better*?

Her mind is drifting. Michael finishes her meditation sequence and comes back to herself slowly, kneeling on the floor of her dim, warm quarters. If she were Vulcan, she would now return to work for several hours before taking time to catch up on professional correspondence, read relevant briefs and journal articles, before finally retiring for the night.

But she is human and requires more sleep. Efforts in her fifteenth year to disprove this fact or transcend it were unsuccessful, if illuminating. She rises and moves efficiently, readying herself for bed.

**

When she’s 11, Michael informs Amanda she wishes to spend less time with her.

“Oh?” Amanda says, voice schooled like she’s practiced since she first came to Vulcan. “I assume you have a reason for this.”

Michael is standing with her small feet apart, hands behind her back, looking somewhere over Amanda’s shoulder. Amanda’s mind had been far away, deep in code review for the beta version of the universal translator, but she’s fully present now.

“Logic dictates that I immerse myself in all things Vulcan, since I am already — since my human heritage is already a factor, associating with additional human influences can only impede my development.”

Amanda tries not to let it feel like punch to the chest that it is.

“I regret that you feel this way,” she says. Michael starts to protest and Amanda corrects herself, inwardly rolling her eyes. “— that you find this a necessary course of action. As you know, of course, infinite diversity is a value promoted by Surak.”

Michael nods gravely.

“In infinite combinations.”

“One might argue that deliberately separating oneself from a family member would reduce ones’ resources unnecessarily,” Amanda goes on. It comes almost naturally after all this time, even though it still feels a little ridiculous coming out of her own mouth. But she’s learned it can be the best way to make progress when faced with a particular kind of Vulcan or a particular kind of mood.

Michael has shifted her eyes warily to actually look at Amanda.

“Continue,” she says after a moment, and ah, there it is. She wants to be talked out of this. Amanda wonders if this is something Sarek unwittingly put in her head. Then again, she’s well aware of all the ways it’s possible to use logic to back oneself into any situation and then justify it.

“I think you’ll find that there are valuable lessons to be learned and positive relationship elements from those of many species,” she says. “Isn’t that why Vulcan is a founding member of the Federation?”

Michael drops her chin in acknowledgment.

“A quorum of the Vulcan Council found it sufficiently logical to partner with Andorians and Tellarites and Terrans; refusing interaction with these species would be to reject the wisdom of the Council.”

Michael’s posture has softened and she uses the toe of one sandaled foot to scratch the back of her other leg.

“I don’t know any Andorians or Tellarites,” she says, like she’s admitting something Amanda doesn’t know.

“Well, that’s certainly something we can work to rectify,” Amanda says. “Sarek mentioned just recently that we should invite the Tellarite ambassador to dinner soon. We can make sure you attend, if you’d like that."

Michael nods gravely.

“Affirmative,” she says, and Amanda smiles, leaning forward so her elbows rest on her knees.

“And I myself know only a few Andorians or Tellarites,” she says, conspiratorially. “And here on Vulcan, even fewer humans. I must admit, I should miss your company gravely, were we to—“ she thinks fast, for the right phrase. “Renegotiate the terms of our interaction.”

There’s a pause as Michael thinks, then nods slowly.

“I do not wish to cause distress to a member of my household,” she says formally. “I rescind my previous comment. We may continue to interact at existing levels.” These are the times when Amanda’s glad she’s always had a decent poker face.

“I’m very gratified to hear it,” she says, and the relief is real. “Will Spock and I see you this evening for his Terran literature session?” ‘Bedtime story’ turns out not to be a phrase that inspires respect in many Vulcans.

“You shall,” says Michael, and gives Amanda the ta’al. “I thank you for our conversation. Peace and long life.”

“I thank you as well,” says Amanda and watches Michael slip out her office door and disappear down the shaded hall of the house, to whatever endless homework or tutoring session she has next on her full and rigid schedule.

**

Michael is no fool. She knows she has been Sarek’s tool, is Captain Lorca’s weapon. She’d been intended as the logical proof that would justify Sarek's fascination with Terrans, his time as the Ambassador to Earth, his friendship with her parents, his marriage to Amanda. And she had failed him — or seemed to have, and if there’s any truth to be said about society in ShiKahr, it’s that the perceived functional equivalent is indistinguishable from fact.

Captain Lorca wants something else from her. Her mind, her lapses in judgment, her hatred of the Klingons, a chance to prove himself the redemptive mentor of a traitor — her mind changes, but she is under no illusions about the transactional nature of their relationship.

She had been a tool for Captain Georgiou as well. Which was only to be expected, as any member of her crew was. Still, she hadn’t expected it when—

“I’m promoting you to XO,” Captain Georgiou said, leaning back in her ready room chair and watching Michael for her reaction. Michael felt a surge of adrenaline and surprise, which hopefully didn’t register on her face.

“Me, Captain?” she said after a pause to gather her thoughts. “Lieutenant Commander Garcia and Lieutenant Saru are the expected choices.”

“I know,” said the captain easily. “But Garcia will be joining Comman— Captain ch'Theloh as first officer on the Tereshkova. And I don’t want either of them. I want you.”

Michael tilted her head slightly to the side, mind calculating.

“Explain,” she said, then internally reprimanded herself for forgetting that single word commands read as terse or even offensive to many non-Vulcan species.

The captain smiled though, as if she’d been waiting for Michael to ask.

“Because I think you’ll keep me honest,” she said. “You bring a fresh perspective to most situations we encounter, and — case in point — you’re not reserved about asking why a decision is being made.”

“But Lieutenant Saru—“ said Michael.

“— will be on the bridge as well. I shall seek honest input from both of you, and I anticipate your differing… worldview will provide a unique balance.”

Michael made note of the apparent ironic vocabulary; she and Saru disagreed on 83% of topics they’d previously discussed.

“There will be some additional work for you to do to earn the position,” the captain went on. “As a field commissioned officer, rather than a graduate of the Academy, there are certain gaps in your educational background that Starfleet requires of its command team. Specifically, training in xenopsychology, EQ, personnel management… I trust that won’t be a problem?"

Emotional intelligence as an academic field was roundly mocked on Vulcan, something akin to astrology, but Michael squared her shoulders.

“Certainly, Captain,” she said. “And… thank you.”

The captain stood, signaling their meeting would conclude.

“That’s what I thought,” she said, with an easy smile that had taken Michael years to become accustomed to. “If there’s anything you like, it’s to challenge yourself."

**

“I don’t know how you do it,” Cadet Tilly says late one evening, flopped upside down on her bunk on _Discovery_. Her red face and sweaty braid dangle over the edge as she looks up at Michael. They’ve been for another set of interval sprints and now are reviewing Starfleet’s lengthy volume of mid-battle tactical maneuvers in three-dimensional space, from the Academy’s command track curriculum.

“Mm?” says Michael, with the small percentage of her attention currently allocated to small talk. She skims through the PADD for another question to ask.

“Just, like, keep pushing yourself. All the time.” She flips herself over and grabs her own PADD, clearly not expecting an answer. “You’re never like, blah, fuck it, I’m going to watch a holo and eat a kilo of chocolate."  

Michael looks up. Chocolate is a known intoxicant for vulcanoid species, and as such, is rarely found on the planet -- or at least not in the orbit she’d as an upstanding young student. 

Michael’s first birthday aboard the _Shenzhou_ , Captain Georgiou has surprised her with a gift.  She must have seen Michael’s date of birth in her file, since she certainly hadn’t mentioned it to anyone.   

It was a box of chocolate, which induced in her a moment of mild shock.

“Chocolate is a known intoxicant for Vulcans,” she said out of habit, then realized of course the captain would know that.  Instead of saying so, the captain gave her a smile.

“But not to humans,” she said, and stood to leave the rec room where she’d found Michael.  Inside the box were small rectangles of chocolate in clean lines, forming a pattern which corresponded to Fibonacci’s sequence.

When she was a child, Michael had returned home at the end of one school day to find Amanda back as expected from a trip to an off-planet xenolinguistics conference.  Michael had many questions for her, about the sessions Amanda had attended, how her presentation had been received. 

“And I have a gift for you,” said Amanda.  

“Is it a book?” asked Michael. Containing information in non-electronic format was illogical, but Amanda had a fondness for books and Michael now had a very small collection of her own.  They were interesting historical artifacts, she had told Sarek.

“Not this time,” said Amanda, smiling, and handed Michael a small object wrapped in paper.  “It’s chocolate.”

Michael felt her face redden and she looked over her shoulder.  Amanda smiled encouragingly.

“Do you remember it?” she said and Michael gave a small, tight nod.  She remembered eating chocolate ice cream with her mother, and a chocolate cake once for her father’s birthday.

“I have a bar of my own, too,” Amanda said, taking another one out of her travel bag.  This one was a different color and Michael tilted her head to read the label.

“There are many different types, flavors and processing methods for chocolate,” Amanda continued.  “But perhaps the two most common -- on Earth, at least -- are dark chocolate--” she nodded at her own.  “And milk chocolate.” Which is what the label read on the piece in Michael’s hand.  “We can both try a piece of each and compare our observations.  If you’d like.”

She sat down on the low couch in her office and began to unwrap her bar calmly. Michael watched her, until Amanda looked up and smiled again. 

“Yes,” said Michael, and moved to sit beside her. 


End file.
